assorted.

When 2007 became 2008, I was standing in the rain. Corner of Rupert and Archer streets, Soho, London. Crackhead pimp wished me a happy new year. He went to shake my hand, I saw he was holding a crack pipe. I wanted to cry. All I could see of the Trafalgar square fireworks were flashes of colour against the clouds behind the Trocadero. I thought it was thunder and lightning, then I remembered that we don't have storms in London, just incessant grey drizzle. Loneliness and exhaustion washed through my insides repeatedly until I was merely a grey, dull misery. The festive season broke my heart this year.

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So strange to consider
this solitary life.
All alone. Just me. Space. Ease.
What if I get lonely though? I think I would if I lived alone.
Perhaps not a lover but merely companionship. Someone to talk to. So that it matters whether you wash dishes or not. Hell, just someone else to consider. To alleviate boredom, you see.
Can I live like this?
Take a lover. For sex. God knows I love that
Do I even have to decide now?
I feel like things in me are changing.
Is this the cause or the effect though
its very hard for me to imagine someone not getting bored of me. I mean like. I know myself and I guess I don;t inspire that sort of thing in people.

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Let us not collapse under the weight of the things we both know. I don't want our recently acknowledged mutual affection bearing down on us, making it harder to breathe. Concentrate. Express. I want you to kiss me on the mouth. I want to hold hands and go ice skating and smile and giggle and blush. I mean, I like you. So kiss me.

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It's the start of winter in London, the air with it's sharp, crisp bite. It's so difficult to sleep at night, the streets are loud with prostitutes and drug dealers and the last of the drunks making their way to minicab offices and night buses. I'm too awake, too hyper, too buzzed from being at work for 13 hours to fall asleep straight away. Instead I lean out windows into the darkness and cold, letting the emptiness wash over me until I'm dulled into quiet exhaustion

I want to dream. That deep, breathless world of my own making. I've not been there much lately. But for that, I need to get some sleep.

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I got out of the shower, having washed every part of my body. My skin was pink and raw and hot. I stank of magnolia crème body wash, tesco 79p. I scrubbed and exfoliated and shaved and conditioned; and wondered if this is what every shower should feel like. Are my usual showers not thorough enough? I didn't feel cleaner, I felt as if I was missing a layer of skin, somehow less protected from the elements. I don't want to be this clean all the time.

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There's the faint hum of personal electronic devices. Headphones overflowing their excess sounds. Voices on the other end of phone lines. I can smell fried chicken and toilet chemicals, soon it will smell of piss and stale cigarette smoke. Painfully cheerful royal blue and mottled London sunshine make me feel warm inside. I treasure the sun even more, because it's been so miserable of late. Also, sunshine is shinier in London. Everything is.

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I'm going to learn things
Knowledge will be mine
I will show you things
and things will happen
and if you're not careful i'll happen to you

it's because we're old bored cynical
being a grown up is no fun
where's the power the freedom you promised me?

I want to fuck you and use you and hurt you and I want to you fall in love with me.

Quiet and unassuming i'll never be
don't you love that about me?

I am not that kind of girl,
I am fucking everything
I am fucking everything and i'll show you

I am angry and I want to fuck you